


Apollo's Song

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Series: Give Me Prompts! [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, Haiku, Poetic, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: What is this kingdom?Where the clouds are below usSeasons are restedWhere fearless Gods layWhere time is infinite hereWealth is abundantDionysus has never heard a tune quite as colorful as this piece. Contrary to these streets, uncoordinated and messy, the song is clear and vibrant. It sounds like the season of October, where the leaves are a myriad of colors, gold, brown, and the like; their youth ends when the color dies, and they fall, only to be swept up by the wind to start anew by the hands of Gaea. A prelude to immortality of the seasons.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one is dedicated to novelsandcoffee who wanted some romance. This is actually another one of my old works that I will be adding on to because, you know, why not? Right? But any who, romance to me is never always about being with the one you love. Romance involves intimacy, which will always be different depending on the person. In this case, my background of the arts romanticizes my appreciation and love for performing because I have been attached to dance and music for so long which of course, has lead to me writing about it.
> 
> Critique comments are always welcome!  
> Enjoy!

**Apollo's Song**

_Part 1_

 

Dionysus

       Between the busy streets of Crete, the bustling and buzzing of townsfolk is like a beehive; every worker, merchant, school girl or boy traveling a spontaneous path towards a new destination.

       Among these mortals is the mighty God, Dionysus. He walks with confidence, his fire flickering to the rhythm of his heart. With every step and breath it grows stronger and stronger still, pleased with the soft melody drifting in his ears.

       The tune is airy, light...ethereal.

       Dionysus has never heard a tune quite as colorful as this piece. Contrary to these streets, uncoordinated and messy, the song is clear and vibrant. It sounds like the season of October, where the leaves are a myriad of colors, gold, brown, and the like; their youth ends when the color dies, and they fall, only to be swept up by the wind to start anew by the hands of Gaea. A prelude to immortality of the seasons.

       Who is the prodigy that performs this melody?

Apollo

       The keys feel like feathers beneath his fingers. A gentle push is all it takes for the note to hang in the air. Repeat this twice, thrice more, and the piece is done.

Dionysus

       The tune has stopped but not before he is able to locate the source. A small cottage surrounded by honeysuckle and marigold lay before Dionysus' eyes.

       Plucking a flower from the garden, he travels toward the door.

_Knock, knock._

Apollo

       He is not expecting to find a God at his door. The older man stood rather stiff, no doubt wanting to make a good impression, although he is already well-known.

       "To what do I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance, Lord Dionysus?" he asks.

Dionysus

       "Beautiful."

       Confusion, then shock, then embarrassment twists across the young man's face. Taking this opportunity to explain, Dionysus tells his story of wandering through the streets of Crete looking for inspiration for one of his upcoming projects. He describes the beautiful melody that struck his ears, slicing through the noisy buzzing of townsfolk. And how he decided to follow the tune, his ever-growing fire insisting that he seek whoever play it.

Apollo

       After listening to his story, Apollo is left speechless. A **God** praised him of his accomplishments! But as luck would have it, he did not compose the song, only learned it out of curiosity; hidden underneath dusty old book shelves the title caught his attention, _The Four Season_ s.

       Apollo apologizes disappointedly, "I am sorry to have confuse you Lord Dionysus but it was not I who composed the piece; a lowly being such as me could not have created such a work of art. I very much appreciate your praise, however."

Dionysus

       "My, how modest you are. Nonetheless, your excuses mean nothing. I still wish to have you as my partner. I have never, in all generations past, ever heard such clarity or passion such as yours. The way you play lifts my tired soul exceptionally, as it will others I'm sure. Won't you come with me to Mount Olympus?"

       Their eyes meet, no doubt the man was looking for some sort of trick in Dionysus' words. Growing impatient, Dionysus sighs and adds, "May I remind you that a _God_ is offering the opportunity to become immortal" he hisses, "and that your only labor would be to indulge yourself in ink scrawled pages of music day and night? You would have private sessions with me, working with the grandest of pianos, the best of composers such as the Muses." His words seem to be having their desired effect; the boy's eyes gleam with want. He continues, "This is a scholarship that would easily be taken by other mortals, the ticket to an easy life. You should be grateful and accept."

Apollo

       His response is immediate. How long had he wanted to forget the struggles of the world and just spoil himself in music?

       "I accept! Please take me as your apprentice, Lord Dionysus." And with that, his sentence was decided. With a snap of the God's fingers, a chariot wound by a Pegasus carries them through cloud and skies.

 _Thump, thump, thump_ goes the beat of his heart.

Dionysus

       They land on a warm marble platform, immediately graced by various domestics as they take his coat and chariot to his chamber. Dionysus is not shocked to see that the boy has his mouth agape, no doubt stunned by the grandness of Mount Olympus. It is far less crowded and several times quieter there than the land of Crete. Voice quivering with anticipation, the boy speaks, "When do we begin?"

       Dionysus answers, "Use this scenery to create a poem. If I deem it worthy enough, then I will keep my word and turn you into a God. If not however, you will be sent back to your home, where rags and scarce meals await you." Once again with a snap of his fingers, Dionysus is whisked away into the unknown, only to leave a note along with parchment paper and pen saying, _You have until the sun meets its horizon. Good luck Apollo._

Apollo

       He frantically begins to jot down descriptions of what he sees and orders them into an organized pattern of words. Mount Olympus is very intimidating; but the closer Apollo lay to the ground, the more alive he feels. It would be an honor to live here and be a part of something so glamorous. Apollo reads his poem several times over, looking for any minuscule error in his grammar. His poem must be the best; only then will he impress Lord Dionysus.

Dionysus 

_Time is up,_ he thinks. Within a second he is once again before the young man. His chest is out, chin up, it would be safe to say that the boy seems rather confident. Gracefully, Dionysus strides toward Apollo and takes the paper from his hands. It reads:

> _What is this kingdom?_   
> _Where the clouds are below us_   
> _Seasons are rested_
> 
> _Where fearless Gods lay_   
> _Where time is infinite here_   
> _Wealth is abundant_
> 
> _What is this kingdom_   
> _That makes my heart batter now?_   
> _That makes my palms sweat_
> 
> _This grand mountaintop_   
> _Made from titans past, of stone_   
> _T'is Mount Olympus_

       Amazed by how quickly a poem of this quality had been created, Dionysus has already decided the boy's fate.

       With a charming smile and clap of his hands, Dionysus says, "Congratulations. You are now a God." Apollo's baggy sheets transform into robes of silk and rose, his hair alternates from brown to black, then gold. His skin becomes as flawless as Narcissus (or close to it) leaving all wrinkles and scars blanketed in a soft glow of perfection.

       "Welcome to Mount Olympus."  
  
  


* * *

 

Apollo

       Years or so have passed since he was tested by Lord Dionysus. Now in his chamber, he sits at the piano playing hymns, minuets, and waltzes composed by himself. Every night he would make his way to Zeus' palace and perform a piece of his choosing. And every time, he would receive a nod of approval or applause if his mood was decent that day.

       By request, he was granted, recently, permission to send bis newest poems and songs to the men and women of Greece, and soon became known as Apollo, the God of music and poetry. A fitting name.

       So now, at his instrument, he plays and plays and will never stop, the need to distribute all he can to the world an overwhelming desire.

_This is where he belongs._

**Author's Note:**

> How did I do?


End file.
